JOSS: A Standalone Romance (Gray Wolf Security)

by Glenna Sinclair

  “But what if she didn’t? I never saw any evidence that she was using illegal drugs.”

  “Maybe she hid it well.”

  “Maybe.” Constance studied my face for a long second. “But that doesn’t mean he didn’t do this, Ana. And by going back to him, you could be placing yourself in danger.”

  I nodded. “I could be. Or I could be abandoning an innocent man.”

  I brushed past her, and—this time—she didn’t stop me. I wrenched the front door of the apartment open, and Adam immediately stepped into my path. I hadn’t even been aware that he was still around.

  “Shouldn’t you be at the house with Nicolas?”

  “He wants me with you,” he said in a low, clipped voice that matched his bulky, Neanderthal-like appearance perfectly.

  “Well, I’m going to the house.”

  “No, ma’am,” he said. “He wants you to remain here until this thing blows over.”

  “That could take months, and there isn’t enough space here for me and these twins,” I said, drawing his attention to my belly as I brushed my hand over it. “So, take me to the house or I’m going back to my empty apartment in Texas and you can explain to him why I left the state.”

  Adam studied my face for a long minute. Then he nodded, stepping aside and gesturing for me to lead the way.

  At least one man in my life knew how to listen to a lady.

  Chapter 15

  He was standing in the living room when we arrived, ironically in the same place he’d been that night four months ago—it seemed like so much longer!—when I came by to see Aurora and he claimed she was out, then kissed me like we were lovers instead of virtual strangers.

  “They let you out.”

  He looked over at me, his eyes red-rimmed, his jaw sporting the beginnings of a heavy beard, the result of two days without a razor.

  “What are you doing here?” He looked over at Adam, gesturing with the hand that held a tumbler that was full to the rim of something dark—bourbon, maybe?—sloshing some of it over his hand. “I told you to keep her away from here.”

  “We came in through the back,” Adam said. “No one saw us.”

  “I don’t fucking care,” Nicolas said, his voice cracking a little as it rose in pitch. “I don’t want her here. What part of that did you not understand?”

  “I insisted,” I said, approaching him cautiously. “I wanted to see you, to make sure you’re okay.”

  He laughed, even as he raised the glass to his lips. He swallowed the whole glass in one swallow, nearly falling over as he stepped backward to grab the bottle and pour some more. It was pretty obvious he’d been drinking for a while. That scared me more than I was willing to admit to myself. A man doesn’t drink like that unless things looked really bleak. Or he was feeling guilty about something.

  “Let’s go upstairs,” I said.

  He looked at me, his eyes moving over the length of me in a very pointed way. “Not in the mood, sweetheart,” he said. “Thanks for the offer though.”

  “I wasn’t suggesting…”

  There was no reason to continue my argument. He wasn’t listening. He’d turned back to the bar and was pouring himself another drink. As I watched, he swallowed two more tumbler-sized gulps as he stood there, or swayed there might have been a better description of what was happening.

  I moved up behind him and lay my hand on the small of his back. He stiffened immediately as though my touch was the last thing he wanted, but I stayed close to him and whispered softly near his ear, “You’re making a fool of yourself, Nicolas. Do you really want to do that in front of Adam and God knows who else is within earshot of you?”

  He glanced at me, pure hatred filling those perfect brown eyes of his. That hurt, stabbing through me like a hot knife through butter. However, it got his attention.

  “Let’s go upstairs and get you cleaned up.”

  He poured himself another glass of booze and swallowed it again, tossing his head back to make sure he got every last drop. And then he stepped back and held his arm out to me.

  “As you wish.”

  I took his arm, and he walked surprisingly steady until we were halfway up the stairs. And then he leaned heavily against me, his steps growing more and more unstable with each step. I wasn’t sure I was going to get him to the bedroom without him falling over, but I did. I helped him to the bed and sat him on the edge of it before I went back to close the door.

  “Fucking paparazzi,” he muttered when I came back to him. “Can’t even threaten my own fucking wife without them going to the cops and claiming I killed her for her life insurance or some such nonsense.”

  “The paparazzi?”

  He nodded, the movement causing him to fall back against the bed. I leaned over him and tugged at the buttons on the front of his dress shirt. It was the same shirt he put on in a hurry the morning the police came to search the house. The morning he was arrested.

  “That’s their witness, you know. A fucking photographer who supposedly overheard me tell Aurora I was going to kill her as she got into the car to leave for the airport that last night.”

  “The news says that someone came forward and said they saw you at the restaurant she was eating at right before she died.”

  He looked at me, clearly struggling to focus. “Waiter,” he mumbled. “Thought I gave him a big enough tip to come down with a little amnesia, but I guess not.”

  I looked sharply at him, as I finished unbuttoning his shirt, spreading it open to reveal his perfectly sculpted chest. Even now, even with everything that was happening, I wanted to run my hands over it, to feel his muscles, his heart, under my hands. Instead, I turned my attention to getting his expensive Prada shoes off his feet.

  “You were in New York that night?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” he mumbled. “Wanted to convince Aurora to give me a divorce, once and for all. I surprised her at the restaurant. I knew she would dine alone in a private room, knew it was the best chance I had of ever getting her alone. But she laughed when I told her what I wanted, and then she threatened to steal the baby she was so sure you were carrying away from me. But I was the one who wanted the baby in the first place.”

  I had his shoes off, and I started to work on his pants. He looked up at me, a pleading look in his eyes.

  “Believe me?”

  “Come on,” I said, taking his hand and pulling him to a sitting position. I slid my arm around his waist and helped him to his feet. We managed to get into the bathroom where I helped him out of his underwear. He leaned back against the counter while I started the water in his walk-though shower, taking only a second to admire the lovely marble that lined the walls and the floor. Then, I undressed and returned to him. His eyes were closed, his breathing slowed, as though he’d managed to fall asleep naked, reclining against the counter. I paused for a second, admiring his body. Him. He was a beautiful man. His bronze skin, the fine sprinkling of dark hair across his chest, the strip of hair that led the eyes to his beautiful cock…I never imagined I would ever be with someone even remotely like him. My last date before all this happened? He was a math teacher at the junior high my elementary school fed into, complete with the heavy-framed glasses and pocket protector in his shirt pocket.

  I moved close to him, my ever expanding belly reaching him before the rest of me. I touched his face and whispered his name, “Nico?”

  He peeked at me from under impossibly long eyelashes.

  “Shower time.”

  He nodded, pushing himself unsteadily to his feet. I slid my arm around his waist and walked him to the shower, grateful that it wasn’t part of a bathtub like it always had been in the house where I grew up. Getting him over the lip of a tub would be almost impossible. But the walk-through didn’t even have a lip at the entrance to the shower; it was so perfectly designed that a subtle slope in the floor made a lip unnecessary.

  He groaned when the water hit him, first along his side from a low set showerhead, and then near hi
s face from the showerhead that was set more traditionally at the center of the back wall. The water was warm and actually felt quite good on my body. He didn’t seem to moan after that initial splash. He raised his face to the water, his eyes closed and his mouth open. I watched for a minute, spellbound by the sight of him. Even drunk and vulnerable he seemed more virile and powerful than any man I’d ever known.

  I grabbed a sponge and doused it in liquid soap. After I had a good lather, I began running it slowly over his back. His muscles were tense at first, but slowly began to loosen up. He leaned forward and braced himself on the wall, a sigh escaping his lips. I couldn’t resist running my soapy hand over his ass, my fingers exploring places they’d never really had access to before. He turned and looked down at me, his expression unreadable.

  “What are you doing here?” he demanded.

  “You brought me here. Remember?”

  “No, I mean now. I was in jail for two days. I’m under investigation for murder. I can’t leave the state. Probably not even the county. You could have gone back to Texas and there’s nothing I could do about it.”

  It had never, honestly, crossed my mind to leave.

  I pressed the sponge to the center of his chest and watched the lather bleed over his skin. “Nothing has really changed. If I left, you would eventually be cleared and come after the babies, and I wouldn’t see them again.”

  The tension came back into his shoulders, but he didn’t move away or react in any other way. He watched me as I continued to wash his chest, my hand slowly wandering down toward his hips. His cock was responding to my touch despite the excessive amount of alcohol he’d drunk. It made my lower belly tighten in response, my thighs quiver with need. Something about being near him made me more focused on sex than I’d ever been before. I always thought there was something unusual about me in that I wasn’t as fascinated with the subject when I was a teen as my friends. Even when I was around Kelly—who focused on sex so much she was going crazy with her self-imposed celibacy—it just didn’t seem as important to me as it did her. But when I was around Nicolas…hello, inner slut!

  He brushed a strand of hair from my face. “They think I killed my wife.”

  I looked up at him. “I know.”

  “Aren’t you afraid? Aren’t you worried that if I killed her, that I might not think twice of doing the same to you?”

  I thought about that for a second. It seemed logical, really. Anyone who killed the woman he once loved, the woman he swore to love for the rest of his life, wouldn’t think twice of killing his surrogate. But the problem with that was that Aurora died of an overdose.

  “I don’t think you did it.”

  He made a sound that was kind of a cross between a chuckle and a groan. “You’re the only one.”

  “How can you force someone to take an overdose of cocaine, anyway?”

  Nicolas shrugged. “They’re saying that it wasn’t cocaine that killed her. They’re saying she was given an overdose of Xanax.”

  “How do they know she didn’t take it herself?”

  “They have a waiter who claims he saw me slip into her drink. Plus…” He hesitated, almost as if he didn’t want to say what came next. He sighed, his hand brushing against my face before he pulled away and turned back to the showerhead, letting the water wash the lather from his skin.

  “What?” I asked, moving against his back, my belly brushing just above the curve of his ass.

  He just shook his head. He was clearly done talking about it.

  He reached for a razor from the shelf built into one wall of the shower, but missed. It clattered to the floor as he lost his balance and barely caught himself against the wet tile. I retrieved it and filled my hand with a little shave cream.

  “Let me do it.”

  “I’m not a child,” he said, but he didn’t seem terribly adverse to the idea. He leaned back against the wall, as I reached up to apply the cream. I’d never shaved a man before. I’ve never even seen a man shave. None of my lovers—all one of him—ever stuck around long enough to shave in front of me. And I didn’t know my father. So it was a little tricky, running the razor over his angled jaw as opposed to my thin, but short, legs. But there was something decidedly sexy about leaning my naked body up against his to reach his handsome face.

  I touched my fingers to his naked flesh in the spaces the razor cleared, not sure what was better, his naked flesh or the bristles of his heavy five o’clock shadow. The naked skin was what I knew, what I loved about the way his features seemed to radiate virility. But the five o’clock shadow added a little mystery, and the feel of those bristles against my skin offered a new sensation that made my blood boil.

  Hmmmm…..

  “Why are you being so nice to me?” he asked softly, as I made one last pass along his chin.

  “Why shouldn’t I be?”

  He kissed me in response, pushing me back against the far wall. I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him down to me as my body curved to welcome him. He leaned into me—maybe to keep from losing his balance—and buried himself against me. It felt so good, so familiar, to have him touch me, to feel his need in every inch of me. Was it really possible to want someone this much? I knew he was drunk; I knew that I should take him to bed and let him sleep it off, but logic disappeared the moment I saw his naked body reclining against the counter.

  He held himself steady with one hand against the wall. The other hand began to explore my body, moving slowly over one breast before sliding down my side to my hip. He tugged me closer to him, his hand sliding over my ass as he pulled me as close to him as my swollen belly would allow. The angle was off. He lowered himself, moved his hips this way and that, but my belly just refused to get out of his way.

  With a groan of frustration, he turned me around. I faced the wall with some hesitation, missing immediately the feel of his lips on mine. But then his hand reached around and his fingers found my clit. And that was absolutely mind blowing…every nerve in my body seemed to explode, sending sparks of pleasure from my belly to my toes and fingertips, tingles rushing over every inch of my scalp.

  And then he slid his cock inside of me and my heart practically stopped for all the beats it missed. I pressed my hips back against him, anxiously awaiting the rhythm my body knew was coming. But he stood still for a long moment, his finger pressed hard against my clit, but also not moving. I could feel his breath, hard and quick, against my shoulder. And then he bit down, a slow groan escaping his lips. It was like he was struggling to get control over himself, as though he was so turned on that just sliding inside of me was enough to set him off. And that thought made my juices run like they’d never done before, my muscles clutch his cock as though they never intended to let him go.

  When he finally did move, it was a whole new wave of pleasure that rushed through me. I cried out as my lower belly shivered with need. He didn’t have to move for long before an orgasm threatened to push me to the ground. I cried out so long my throat began to ache. And the thing was, that little orgasm was just the beginning. As he continued to pound inside of me, my nerves became raw, every movement setting off a new series of heart pounding, mind numbing waves that washed over my entire body. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think, couldn’t move. All I could do was go along for the ride.

  If he hadn’t reached his height when he did, I might have gone completely insane. But then he cried out, biting down on my shoulder again, the pain bringing me back enough that I managed to come back to myself just before my knees finally gave up and I began to slide down the slick wall. I caught myself, pressing my body so tight against the wall that I felt a funny little wiggle in the lower half of my belly. I didn’t think anything of it—it was kind of hard to think of anything but the weight of Nicolas’ body against me—at the time. I just listened to Nicolas’ low moans and the way his breath came in quick gasps.

  He calmed after a few minutes and slowly pulled away, the absence of him inside of me leaving me a littl
e lost. And then he was gone. He just walked away as though I wasn’t even there.

  By the time I pulled myself together and got dressed, he was nowhere to be found.

  Chapter 16

  I went to the room Nicolas had declared mine upon our arrival from Texas. It was my intention to throw myself on the bed and cry for Nicolas and all the darkness that seemed to have entered my life since he came into it. I didn’t understand why he would just up and leave me like that. Why did he run away, just leave me standing there alone? Was he that disgusted by his attraction to me? Or was there something more to it than that? I mean, the guy’s wife had just died a few months ago. Maybe I was making a mistake thinking he might see me as more than just the surrogate carrying his children, as just the woman who happened to share his bed from time to time.

  Then I walked into the bedroom and discovered that all the clothes Nicolas had insisted on buying me right before he was arrested had arrived and was freshly laundered and laid out on my bed. Just seeing it there reminded me of that afternoon, of staring at the gorgeous—clearly not pregnant—models who displayed them for us. I was so intimidated the whole time we were there, thinking that I would never look like they did in those amazing clothes. Nicolas ended up choosing most of what he bought. And, I had to admit, he had amazing taste.

  I ran my fingers over silk and linen and all this amazing fabric that I never could have afforded in my previous life as a kindergarten teacher even if the private school I worked for paid better than most. There was even lingerie, the most amazing panties and bras and stockings…he’d bought these things like he expected me to live a glamorous life. The most I planned on doing in the next five months was get fat and watch daytime television. But some of these dresses? I could go to movie premieres and five-star restaurants in them if I wanted.

  I picked up one dress in particular that I don’t remember seeing before. It was just a simple summer dress, the pattern not unlike the dress I was wearing the first time I met Nicolas. It was cut different, more of an A-line than one would expect in a maternity dress, and the neckline was a lot lower than anything I might have worn before. My mother was a strict Catholic. She never would have let me out of the house wearing anything as daring as this. However, when I put it on, it made me feel sexy in a way I’d thought my quickly disappearing waistline had forced into the past.